Mort de Rire
by upset the established order
Summary: Love, as they say, is blind. When forced to ignore our morals, forget our loyalities and descend into madness, however, it's time to open our eyes. Joker/OC, post-TDK.
1. Prologue

Snickers reverberated around the room as a seated figure eyed the television set in front of him. Grainy footage of a recorded press conference played, dated April 12, 2011.

On-screen, a dark-haired man in his mid-forties addressed the hordes of journalists with a charming smile and a mild Quebecois accent. Rapid camera flashes captured every move the man made, illuminating the purple walls of the room in which the recording played. The spectator leaned forward in anticipation, his snickers merging into full-blown laughter as the man on-screen turned to a new question.

"_Mayor Martin, how do you plan to deal with the recent escape of the Joker from Arkham Asylum, given Gotham's previous failure to bring him under control?"_

"Smart reporter…"

"_Well, personally, I don't find Gotham's previous attempts to be failures-"_

More laughter.

"_-considering the fact that he was apprehended in the first place. That being said, my top priority is a full revamp of the security measures and physical structure of Arkham Asylum-"_

"Like _that_ will do any good, ha, ha…ha…"

"_-particularly the high-risk facilities."_

"Ooooh, so I'm _high-risk_ now, am I?"

"_I also plan to strengthen the Gotham City Police Department as I believe they play a sizable role in creating a bright future for Gotham, and for the time being, bringing the Joker to justice."_

"_Mayor Martin, how do you feel about the widespread allegations that Gotham's police force is in league with the mob?"_

"I thought we covered this last time…"

"_To be perfectly honest, I'm extremely disappointed with that attitude. A city that has no faith in its authorities cannot expect them to perform to the best of their abilities. I truly believe that the Gotham City Police Department represents the remaining good in this city and I put my complete trust in them-"_

"Oh, you _would_, wouldn't you…"

"_-as I believe everyone should. Back in my hometown in Quebec, we value a strong community above all-"_

The viewer began to shake with loud, high-pitched giggles.

"_-and I firmly believe in integrating that concept during my time as mayor."_

"_Speaking of community, Mayor Martin, do you believe your French background will have any…negative consequences? Given the fact that Gotham is a predominantly English-speaking city?"_

The mayor chuckled to himself for a few moments, eliciting scattered and confused laughter from the press. Only the figure watching the recording was able to catch the dangerous flash in the mayor's eyes and the tightness of the smile he aimed at the inquiring reporter.

"_I'd first like to point out, my friend, that I am Quebecois_, not_ French. Vast difference. As for your question, I have absolutely no issue with native English speakers. I have lived in Gotham with my family for 11 years now and have learned to love both the language and culture of this city. In fact, I believe my becoming mayor brings the world one step closer to eliminating any perceived tension between the English and French communities-"_

The recording abruptly stopped as the figure turned off the television, snickering to himself in absolute delight and wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

"Oh, you are a _liar_, aren't you, _Mayor _Martin? On top of other things, ha, ha…this will be easier than I thought…"


	2. Taken Hostage

**A/N: So here is the official first chapter! My apologies for the long wait; life got in the way and I was extremely busy with work. Anyways, hope you enjoy this chapter, and don't forget to leave me some reviews!**

_ Dong! Dong! Dong!_

The front door creaked open.

Six figures quietly strode past the door in single-file with painted clown masks securely attached to their heads. Each carried a Glock 18C equipped with a silencer, although having been repeatedly warned only to use it in an emergency. Their main weapon, according to the Boss, was to be stealth; get in, complete the objective, get out. Don't make a sound. Don't overcomplicate things.

The leading figure pulled out a small light and a map. He laid the map on a nearby table, flicked on the light and peered down at the outline of the house.

"Alright," he whispered gruffly, "the office is above the stairs and to the right. Mary, you have the needle?" The smallest person nodded.

"Good. Make sure you do _not_ hit the door on the left or the one at the end of the hallway. He has two kids and a wife–"

"Holy shit, Peter, we get it," Mary snapped, interrupting the instructions. The others looked around nervously. "The boss told us everything already. We don't need you slowing down the whole operation by repeating everything he said, Jesus Christ..."

"Well, apparently you do!" Peter shot back, his voice rising in anger. The rest of the group clutched their guns closer in fear and attempted in vain to quiet Peter down. "If you had actually listened to what the Boss said before we left, you'd know that he specifically instructed me to repeat everything to make sureyou idiots don't fuck this up. We only get _one_ shot at this and I'd rather not get my ass beat because you wasted this toxin on the wrong person!"

Upstairs, in the room to the left of the stairs, Michelle Martin cowered in absolute terror underneath her covers.

_There are killers in the house, there are killers in the house, _her mind repeatedly chanted. She closed her eyes and shook nervously as the voices started up again. Why weren't her parents doing anything?

_Do I get up and die or stay in bed and die? _she wondered to herself. _Decisions, decisions… _After weighing the options for a few moments, Michelle sat up as quietly as possible and pressed a foot down on the floor, which promptly creaked loudly enough for the old couple on the other side of town to hear. The voices abruptly stopped.

_This is where I die, _thought Michelle miserably. After a few nauseating seconds, the voices resumed their heated exchange and Michelle quickly scanned her room for her cell phone. Grabbing it from her night table, she dialled 911 and looked at the screen. The battery was red and blinking rapidly. She cursed to herself.

"911, what is your emergency?"

"Hi, I don't have much time because my phone is about to die. I live on 127 Cedar Lane and there are a bunch of thieves downstairs!"

"Alright, thank you. Three police cruisers will be there in approximately 15 minutes."

"15 minutes?" Michelle practically squealed. "Why is it going to take so long?"

"I apologize, miss, but there was an emergency roughly 15 minutes ago that required nearly all of our free police cruisers," the operator replied.

_15 minutes, oh my God, okay, I can survive for 15 minutes..._ thought Michelle frantically.

"Alright, miss, are you still there?" asked the operator. Michelle answered yes. "Do you know how many intruders there are and if any of them are armed?"

"I don't know exactly how many there are but there's definitely more than one. And I swear I heard the sounds of guns," replied Michelle. She strained her ears to pick out the noises from downstairs and amidst the voices–which had grown to slightly louder than a normal conversational tone–she heard the unmistakeable sound of a gun being loaded. "They're definitely armed," she added.

"Alright, miss, are you the owner of the house?"

"No, my papa is. I'm his daughter."

"Alright, listen carefully then. You said your battery is nearly dead so I'm going to quickly instruct you on what to do and stay on the line until we're disconnected. Whichever room you're in, I need you to lock the door and find something large to block it so that no one can enter. Are you in your bedroom?"

"Yes."

"Then if you have some sort of dresser or bookcase, anything like that will do. Keep something nearby that can be used as a weapon in case the intruders manage to get inside your room."

"Won't I go to jail if I hit them?" Michelle asked nervously.

"Not if it's self-defense. Keeping yourself safe right now is the priority. Keep any windows unlocked and open in case you need to escape, but for the time being, stay in your room until the police arrive. Don't make any unnecessary noises and if the intruders manage to get in–"

The line disconnected and Michelle nearly fainted.

_Oh my God, they knew I was on the phone, they cut the line, I'm dead... _she thought anxiously. Then she remembered her battery and checked the screen-dead. She heaved a sigh of relief and went to go open her window.

_Okay, at least five minutes has passed since she said the cops were on their way…she told me to stay here, but what about mama and papa? And Christopher…okay. They're all going to get hurt if I stay in here… _Michelle reasoned. She quickly made up her mind and silently crept out of her room and down the hall into the office.

Creaking open the door, Michelle peered in and noticed her father elbow-deep in paperwork. He was muttering furiously to himself and didn't even notice his daughter enter the room.

"Papa!" whispered Michelle. Her father flinched and turned around to look at her. "Papa, there are people in the house, downstairs!"

Mr. Martin stared at his daughter in confusion for a few moments before turning his chair around and resuming his work.

"Papa, I'm serious!"

Mr. Martin sighed in exasperation and turned around again. "Michelle, chérie, aren't you a little old now to be thinking your dreams are real?"

Michelle gawked at him.

"Now, Michelle, I think it's time to go back to bed. I have to finish this paperwork by nine and I don't have time right now for any distractions. Bonne nuit, ma belle," her father finished before returning to his work again. Michelle just stared at her father's back in disbelief for a few seconds before trying again.

"But papa, can't you hear the voices?" she pleaded. Her father audibly sighed again and, in an attempt to humour her, stayed still and listened for any voices. After a minute of complete silence, he gave Michelle a pointed look which Michelle took to mean "get back to your room or you're grounded".

Completely enraged, Michelle left the room and quietly closed the door. She hated when her father had to do work; he always became such an angry person. She began to walk down the hall…

…and bumped straight into someone else.

Michelle, quivering in fright, looked up into the black eyes of a clown mask. Its ugly, painted smile frowned down at her as the figure cocked its head in apparent confusion. Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth to scream at the same time that the figure clamped a gloved hand down over her face.

"Shit, shit, _shit_," the figure chanted in an angry voice. Michelle kicked and punched furiously as the assailant grabbed both her wrists and tried to manoeuvre them behind her back. "Stop moving you little shit!" he barked, forgetting the need for silence.

In response, Michelle clamped her teeth down as hard as possible on his hand. The man howled in pain and released his hand from her mouth to punch her in the face before she could take the chance to scream.

Michelle saw stars.

Her vision started to swim before her eyes as she dropped to the floor and feebly tried to call out for her father. She could vaguely hear her attacker calling out for the others, with mention of a needle. After a few seconds, a group of blurry, shadowy figures appeared and looked down at her. The whole thing seemed like a nightmare sequence with six grotesque clown masks peering over her like surgeons on an operating table.

The intruders began to talk in low voices and Michelle struggled to listen as she began to fade in and out of consciousness.

"Cops…outside…front door blocked…no time," said the figure that had attacked her. The most diminutive figure nodded and a second later, Michelle felt a prick on her neck. Every one of her muscles immediately seized up.

_I've been poisoned, _she thought drowsily.

The last thing Michelle could consciously perceive was the largest intruder picking her up and slinging her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Then, in an unfortunate case of irony, the group of six stealthily escaped out of the house through Michelle's open window.

A moment later, Michelle's father opened the office door after hearing several shouts from the police and what sounded vaguely like a tussle outside the door. Looking around, he saw no sign of a struggle, but neither did he see a sign of his daughter.

Mr. Martin ran to his daughter's room as a team of armed officers ascended the stairs, but saw nothing except for an open window with the drapes drifting lazily in the breeze.

They were already gone.

Two streets down from the house, an inconspicuous black minivan sped along the road. The driver nearly ran a stop sign, eliciting angry groans from his passengers.

"We're completely dead," mumbled the figure in the passenger seat. She removed her clown mask and ruffled her hair in annoyance. The figures in the back silently waited for the driver to snap back at her, but he stayed oddly silent.

All six wondered fearfully what the Boss would do to them once they brought the girl instead of her father. Would he kill them all quickly, or torture them first? Would there be any chance of survival?

Their horrible trains of thought were interrupted with the sound of the hostage rolling off the seat and hitting the floor as the driver came to a sudden stop.

"Peter, you idiot!" his passenger snapped in frustration. "Why the hell did you stop?" no one made any mention of the unconscious girl collecting dust on the floor of the car.

"I'm not sure we should go back, Mary…" Peter trailed off. "What do you guys think?"

Mary rolled her eyes. "If we don't go back," she reasoned, "the Boss will hunt us down and then probably...I don't know…skin us alive or some shit like that." The rest of the group shivered and nodded in agreement but Peter refused to move the car.

"Listen, Peter, this is his daughter right? So…so _maybe_, the Boss can hold her hostage in exchange for money–"

"You and I both know he doesn't give a crap about _money_," interrupted Peter in exasperation.

"I wasn't done yet!" Mary shot back. "The Boss can hold her hostage in exchange for money _or _for father. I'm sure he'd come looking for us anyways to save his precious spawn, don't you think?"

Peter contemplated the thought for a bit and then pressed the gas pedal. Just this once, Mary was right. It was better to go back to the Boss with _something _rather than running away and waiting to be found. He already had a firsthand experience of how well that plan would go and Peter was definitely not willing for a repeat.

After 10 minutes of silently driving through the city streets, the van pulled into a crude driveway in front of the most depressing-looking warehouse in all of Gotham.

The warehouse was shaped irregularly, with the sides sloping downwards to a point and a large attached building jutting out from behind. The grimy walls, painted an ugly charcoal grey, were full of holes and crevices leading to a distorted view of the interior. Where the paint wasn't flaking off, vulgar graffiti covered the walls along with years of cobwebs and dark brown stains that looked eerily like blood.

In a sharp and strange contrast, the front door was immaculate, with freshly-painted wood and a brand new brass knocker in the shape of a clown's face.

Everyone removed their clown masks and proceeded to enter the warehouse. Peter went to the back of the car, picked up Michelle and slung her, once again, over his shoulder. She didn't make a sound.

Inside the warehouse, the group stood inside the main lounge, awaiting orders from Peter. A slight, twitchy teenager poked his head out from a door in front of the group and eyed everyone carefully. Peter muttered angrily to himself before calling out.

"Jude? Can you come out here for a second?"

The teenager looked left and right before slowly exiting what appeared to be a bathroom and walking up to Peter.

"That doesn't look like the mayor," Jude said matter-of-factly. Peter repressed the urge to punch him.

"We're aware," he replied through gritted teeth. "Where's the Boss? And you better not fucking lie to me."

Jude bounced on the balls of his feet for a few seconds without replying, seemingly determining whether or not to inform the others of the Boss's location. It wasn't until Peter threateningly stepped forward that Jude spoke.

"Wait! Wait…okay…um, um, _why_ do you have a girl, first of all? The Boss is going to be really pissed off, _may_be you shouldn't see him right _now_…" he said with a nervous grin. Mary bristled.

"Jude, shut the fuck up. Just tell us where he is. The girl's none of your damn business," she said angrily. Jude didn't spare her a glance.

Suddenly, the door to the right of the group creaked open to reveal a dimly-lit room. Jude mumbled something about having to go and scurried off. Everyone else froze and waited.

"From the uh, _looks_ of it, I'm assuming you all didn't do what I wanted you to do…" said a nasally voice deep within room. Everyone stiffened. "_Well?_" the voice added impatiently.

Peter cleared his throat and stepped forward. "We had an, um, unexpected problem, Boss. We were going up to the office where her father was but she was in the hallway–"

"And wouldn't she only be awake if _something had woken her up?_ Hmm?"

Peter shifted his feet uncomfortably and mumbled unintelligibly. "What was that?" the voice asked sharply. Peter mumbled again and the voice growled. The door slammed open and out walked the source of the voice.

A tall man dressed in purple with a fresh coat of white and red greasepaint strode out and grabbed Peter by the throat. He flicked out a knife and held it to Peter's throat, who sputtered in fear and dropped Michelle to the floor. Everyone else backed off and gave them a wide berth.

"Didn't I specifically tell you," the man said menacingly, "not to mess this up? How many times did I tell you to be _as quiet as possible?_" He shook Peter roughly.

"How many times?" he repeated.

"T-ten t-times," Peter choked out. The man gave him a pat on the head as if he was a dog.

"Now I have some useless teenage girl, and that means I have to reassess everything I've been planning for the past _week_. What do you think I should do now, Peter? Because I'm one step away from beheading you and everyone else over here!" he barked furiously.

Sweat began to pool on Peter's forehead as he steadily began to turn bluer. The knife at his throat pressed down and a thin line of blood appeared. Peter whimpered in pain and terror.

All of a sudden, Michelle let out a tiny groan and shifted. The man released Peter's neck, dropping him onto the floor with a loud bang. Peter immediately crawled backwards and began to massage the purple indentations that were quickly forming on his throat.

"How is she moving?" the man in purple demanded angrily. He looked to Peter, who was still coughing, and growled.

"We…we only used a bit of the toxin," said Mary in a small voice. Everyone turned to look at her. She gulped and continued, "We didn't want t-to waste it all on her so we just put enough to…to keep her still for the ride here. And, um, she went unconscious so we didn't really…need to worry about her escaping…she's not exactly very strong."

The man glared at Mary until she shrank backwards and then turned his gaze to the lump on the floor. He began to whistle and bent down to shake Michelle awake. When she didn't respond, he got back up and swiftly kicked her in the stomach. Michelle groaned in pain and turned over.

_I'm alive…oh Jesus, my everything hurts, _she thought glumly. Looking around, she noticed a door leading into a dark room with what looked like purple walls.

_Where the hell am I? _she wondered.

"Alright there missy, you've had your moment. Now get up," commanded a high-pitched and strangely familiar voice. With great difficulty, Michelle turned over and looked at the person standing in front of her. He gave her a sarcastic grin, baring sharp yellow teeth and facial scars that every person in Gotham had come to know and fear.

Michelle promptly fainted.


	3. Escape

**A/N: This would have been out sooner but for a tornado watch in my area. Hope you enjoy!**

When Michelle awoke several hours later, her head was pounding and her stomach felt as though it had been hit repeatedly with a two-by-four. The events of the previous few hours flooded back as she bolted upright to find herself in a very unfamiliar room. The walls were painted a light pink with posters of various international monuments and landscapes covering nearly every inch of available space. The room had no furniture aside from the rickety wooden bed on which Michelle sat and a small, wooden night table. Clothing was strewn haphazardly on the floor. The room was a mess.

Michelle took a few deep breaths to calm herself and began to think. She had been injected with some kind of toxin, taken hostage by a bunch of people in clown masks, transported to a large room with about a million doors and come face-to-face with–she shuddered–the Joker.

Michelle knew who he was, of course. He had escaped from the local asylum a few weeks before her father had been elected mayor. It was at that point that the previous mayor, Anthony Garcia, had decided he could no longer sufficiently protect Gotham and had subsequently stepped down from his position.

Before that, the Joker had terrorized Gotham, killing dozens of people in an attempt to destroy the city's soul. The Joker was hard to miss and very, very dangerous. Michelle could only wonder what he wanted with her.

"He probably wants to hold me for ransom," she concluded to herself.

"You know, talking to yourself is one of the first signs of insanity," the Joker stated cheerfully as he strolled inside the room. Michelle seized up in fright. "I should know."

He sat directly in front of Michelle on the bed and silently watched her. Michelle stared back, unsure of what to say. After five full minutes of silence, the Joker finally spoke.

"Hi."

Michelle furrowed her brow in confusion. The Joker continued to stare at her as if expecting her to return the greeting.

"Hello…" she replied timidly.

"How are you?" asked the Joker, smiling to himself as if remembering an old punch line.

"Um," Michelle stammered, "I'm fine…I guess…" The Joker rolled his eyes.

"Tell me how you really feel!" he demanded, scooting a step closer on the bed. Michelle retreated back.

"I don't know!" she squealed. "I've just been kidnapped and injected with some poison or something, how am I supposed to feel?"

The Joker doubled over in wheezing laughter. Michelle wanted nothing more in that instant than to run out the door and escape.

As if reading her mind, the Joker warned, "Don't even think about it." He gave one last wheezing chuckle and then straightened up. "You haven't been poisoned, you idiot, otherwise you'd be dead." Michelle frowned. "You're still alive, aren't you?" the Joker asked. He put three fingers in front of her face, waved them around and asked, "How many fingers?"

Michelle blinked in confusion and the Joker sighed and rolled his eyes to stare at the ceiling. "Well, you're alive…barely. Speaking of which, how's your stomach?"

Michelle, unable to make the connection between her being alive and the state of her stomach, sputtered for a bit before replying. "I think you left a bruise."

The Joker started to roar with laughter again, and slapped his thigh in excitement. "She speaks!"

"That seriously hurt, and it still hurts," Michelle whimpered, torn between her anger at the Joker for laughing at her pain, and wanting to cry as the realization hit that she was conversing with the most unstable murderer in Gotham.

The Joker sobered up and gave her a sarcastic smile. "It could have been a lot worse, you know," he said in a low voice. The clown lifted a leg onto the bed, clicked the heel of one foot against the bedpost, and displayed the razor-sharp knife that now protruded from the tip of his shoe. Michelle's stomach dropped at the sight of the knife.

"Let's just say you got very lucky," said the Joker. "Alright, enough of this now. So, I'm going to assume by your overdramatic fainting spell earlier that you know who I am. And I know who _you_ are, of course. So there really isn't any need for any formal introductions, riiight?"

Michelle gaped stupidly at him. Unperturbed, the Joker grabbed her chin and forced it up and down in a nodding gesture. Michelle pushed his hands away and retreated further back. The Joker barely noticed.

"Okay, now, I have some ground rules for you, so I need you to listen _very_ carefully." Michelle nodded nervously and the Joker stared off into space for a moment before continuing.

"I'm going to be completely honest with you; I nearly killed you earlier and I'm still wondering whether I should now." He looked pointedly at Michelle and cocked an eyebrow. Michelle could feel tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

"Alright, feeling's passed. I'm not going to kill you," the Joker said mildly. Michelle wanted to scream. "You're actually a big part of the plan, now, Miss Michelle."

Hearing the clown say her name suddenly made the whole situation seem a lot more real. In a moment of pure stupidity, Michelle launched herself off the bed and made a run for the door, but before she could get even two feet away, the Joker grasped her wrist in a painfully hard grip and flung her back onto the bed. Her shoulder hit the bedpost and she collapsed over in pain. The Joker watched her clutch her wrist and shoulder in agony before continuing.

"Alright, so rule number one: don't try to escape."

Michelle glanced up at him with tears beginning to make their way down her face. The Joker didn't bat an eye.

"Rule number two: the only rooms you are allowed to enter are this one, the main room you were in before and the bathroom and kitchen downstairs. You are _not_ to go anywhere else unless I give you permission. If you go into my office, you die on the spot. Capische?"

Michelle wiped her face and stared defiantly up at him. "I thought…I was part of your…_plan,_" she gasped out through the pain.

The Joker considered her for a moment. "I can think on my feet," he eventually replied. "And anyways, I don't mean to offend, but you weren't exactly the grand prize in this whole operation, so to speak…"

As irrational as she knew it was, Michelle couldn't help but feel the slightest bit annoyed at the Joker's comment. The Joker, sensing her irritation, grinned widely.

"As for the rest of the ground rules, it's pretty much basic stuff," he said. "Don't talk back to me, cut the attitude, stay out of my sight unless I want you there…"

The Joker continued to ramble, his voice steadily dropping until he was mumbling incoherently to himself. He hopped off the bed and left the room without another glance at Michelle. Not a minute after he left, a girl walked in.

"Morning," she said distractedly, looking around the room as if searching for something.

The voice sounded vaguely familiar. Michelle watched her throw around various articles of clothing before an idea came to her. "You're one of the ones that kidnapped me?" The girl looked up, nodded, and then resumed her work.

"Why did you kidnap me?"

"Boss's orders," came the short reply.

"What was in the stuff that you injected me with?"

"Can't say."

Michelle was growing increasingly frustrated with the clipped answers she was getting. The girl continued to look around, obviously struggling to find whatever it was she was searching for. Michelle decided that she would have to play nice in order to get some answers.

"Do you need any help?" she asked. This time, there was no response.

"Seriously," she tried again, "I can help you find whatever you're looking for–"

An excited shout interrupted Michelle as the girl seemingly found what she was looking for. She stood up triumphantly, a smug grin on her face, and shoved a small razor blade in Michelle's face before stuffing it inside the pocket of her ripped jeans. "Got it!" she declared enthusiastically.

Michelle nodded, unsure of what else to do. She was quickly becoming annoyed with how confusing these people were. The girl ignored the strange look Michelle gave her and sat where the Joker had been a few moments ago. She cleared her throat and began to speak rapidly.

"So, the Boss already told you most of what you need to know. I'm here to fill you in on the rest." She took a deep breath. "There are 10 of us in total here: you, me, the Boss and seven other guys. They work for the Boss too, and you aren't going to bother any of them, or me. My name's Mary, by the way. You'll be sleeping in here with me, but I'm warning you, no funny business. If I find any of my stuff missing, you're going to be in a world of pain." She gave Michelle a particularly nasty look, as if Michelle had already done her wrong.

"For today, the Boss has decided to let you stay in here and relax, read a book or something. Whatever you rich kids do in your spare time." Michelle began to interject but Mary plowed on ahead. "Don't ask me nothing about anything because I'm not allowed to tell you and I wouldn't if I could. _And_, don't think you can take advantage of me on account of me being a girl, 'cause I assure you that I can take care of you, no problem."

Mary nervously glanced at the window before getting up and promptly leaving the room, the knife she had been searching for catching on the doorjamb and falling back onto the floor.

Michelle's mind was reeling. So far, her suspicions had been confirmed: everyone in this place was a complete nutcase. She should have assumed as much, what with them being the Joker's henchmen. She couldn't just stay here, though, and hope that the police might happen to find and rescue her. Once again, she would have to take matters into her own hands.

Ignoring the Joker's warnings and Mary's instructions, Michelle shut the door as quietly as possible and surveyed the room. Near the bed was the sole window in the room which had rusty, ancient-looking bars to keep her from getting out. Michelle mentally compared the width of the spaces between the bars to her own body; she wouldn't be able to squeeze through without cutting herself on the nails popping out. She glanced at the floor and noticed the knife Mary had left behind. It was new and very sharp…possibly sharp enough to cut through the rusted metal.

Michelle walked over to the knife and picked it up, feeling the cut of the blade with discomfort. She hated knives, but this would have to be done. She moved the night table underneath the window, climbed on top and began to saw through the bars. The razorblade easily cut through the corroding metal and within 15 minutes, she had cut through four bars. She slid the top half of her body out through the hole to test if she could fit, and once finding that she could, climbed out of the window.

Once she caught sight of the sky, Michelle excitedly pumped her fists in the air in absolute joy. _I can't believe I'm escaping! _she thought. Suddenly, she heard a dull thud. She whipped around to see Mary through the window, sporting a very ugly look on her face. The window, previously uncovered, now had a transparent plastic cover closing it to prevent Michelle from returning inside.

_Why would she bother closing me out…? That doesn't make any sense,_ Michelle thought blankly. She shrugged and turned back around to plan her next move, only to find herself on a roof with a very long way to the ground beneath her. She nervously looked around for any nearby trees, only to find that the area was completely desolate.

_Crap._

Michelle turned around and began to bang on the window. "Let me back in, come on!" she screamed, but Mary only sneered at her before pulling down the drapes.

"Hey, how's the weather up there?"

Michelle jerked and nearly fell down the roof at the sound of his voice. She gulped and turned around to find the Joker surveying her from down below. His face was impassive, his hands behind his back.

"What are you doing up there, missy?" he asked complacently. Michelle didn't answer.

"Were you trying to escape?" he pressed on. A grin began to form on his face and Michelle gave the tiniest of nods.

"But _why_ ever would you _do_ that?" he asked in mock confusion. He put his hands on his hips and gave her an impish look.

Michelle, seeing no other choice, answered. "I'm sorry…"

The Joker slapped his forehand and sighed dramatically. "It's only been, what, twenty minutes since I gave you _two_ rules to follow, and you've already tried to break the first rule twice. I'm very offended."

Michelle whimpered.

The Joker sniggered and returned his hands to his hips. "I should just leave you on the roof."

Michelle's eyes widened and she began to twitch. "No, please," she pleaded. "You can't leave me up here! I'll starve!"

The Joker clapped his hands to his face in exaggerated horror. "But, Michelle, my dear, you failed my test!"

Michelle's mind went blank. "T-test?" she stammered.

The Joker covered his mouth to stop a series of laughter from escaping. "You…you didn't actually think it would be _that_ easy to escape from here, did you?" he said in between muffled laughs. "Now…now I'm _actually_ offended!"

Now that Michelle thought about it, it _did_ seem a bit too easy. Mary dropping the knife she had been searching for so carefully, her obvious glance at the window, the bars being rusty enough to be cut apart with a razor blade…Michelle felt stupid.

The Joker stopped laughing long enough to address Michelle seriously. "The choice is yours, Michelle," he declared, folding his arms over his chest. "I can kill you and you can be free to explore the afterlife of whatever misguided religion you follow._ Or_ you can stay here and be a good little girl so I can go back to what I was doing before you tried to play hero. What's it gunna be?"

Michelle looked down dejectedly, realizing that the Joker really had always been one step ahead of her. Her moment of brilliance had been false, and Michelle didn't really feel like she had the brains to try to escape again.

"I'll…I'll stay here," she mumbled.

The Joker clapped his hands and smiled widely. "Now that's the smartest thing you've said all day!" He saluted her and began to walk away, whistling an old show tune.

"Wait!" Michelle called out. "Help me get down from here!"

The Joker turned around and looked at the sky. "Fine," he said in an amused tone of voice. "I really should make you get down by yourself though, considering all the trouble you've caused me…"

Michelle sniffled, eliciting an angry glare from the Joker. "Don't do that," he snapped. Michelle instantly stopped.

"Alright, so move up a step," he instructed. Michelle did. "Now a step to left. No, your left. _Your _left. Come on, girl!" Michelle obeyed his orders with confusion as to how this would help her get off the roof.

"Now, get up," he commanded.

Michelle stood up and swiftly fell straight through the roof as the old, rotten wooden planks crumbled underneath her weight. The rafters came tumbling down with her into the room below as a large cloud of dust exploded upwards into the air.

Michelle groaned in pain atop a pile of splintered wood as the Joker roared with laughter.

_This is unreal_, Michelle thought numbly. She didn't move as the Joker's laughter slowly died away. A few minutes later, the door to the room opened and the Joker wandered in. He gave a low whistle as he observed the damage Michelle's fall had caused.

"This is quite a mess, missy," he stated. "I wonder how much you weigh to have been able to break through the roof…"

Michelle didn't even bother to reply.

The Joker aimed a kick at the pile of boxes beneath Michelle. The boxes tumbled over and Michelle fell to his feet, along with several blocks of wood that had previously been part of the ceiling. She groaned in pain and mentally willed the Joker to leave her alone. He didn't, instead opting to drag her up to her feet with the wrist that he had injured earlier. Michelle cried out in pain.

"Will you stop being such a sissy?" exclaimed the Joker. "You're lucky you landed on those boxes! Normally, a fall like that would have broken _at least _a couple of bones, but here you are, having fallen 10 feet _at the most_ before landing on a nice pile of cardboard…and you're _crying_!

He let go of her wrist and Michelle crumpled to the floor. She flipped onto her back and felt for any severe injuries, of which there were thankfully none. The Joker regarded her closely before walking away to a larger pile of boxes, fishing a remote out of his pocket, and turning on a television that was barely visible from behind a forklift. Michelle recognized her father speaking on the screen, evidently at a press conference.

"Watch a lot of your father's meetings, do you?" the Joker asked as he seated himself on a lone box on the floor.

"No…not really," Michelle answered sullenly. She carefully sat up and watched the screen from afar. Feelings of homesickness arose in her.

"You won't recognize this one," said the Joker. "This is a live recording."

Michelle's heart sank as the Joker turned up the volume. She strained her ears to catch any mention of her name, but her efforts were in vain as her father discussed new policies on parking tickets.

_This has got to be an old recording, _she thought desperately, while staring at the date on the recording: May 27, 2011, today's date.

"A missing daughter and all he can discuss are _parking tickets_," the Joker mused. "What a class act."

Despite the contents of the news recording, Michelle couldn't stand to see the Joker insult her family. "Maybe he's trying to keep everyone calm," Michelle said hesitantly. "I'll bet he already put a missing person report out–"

The Joker waved his hand dismissively. "I sincerely doubt that. Your father's not exactly a very smart man."

Michelle glared at the back of the Joker's head and huffed. "My father is a very successful man," she said to herself.

The Joker heard her and turned his head around. "It doesn't take brains to score a position in the government, Michelle, you should know that. All it takes are the right connections, of which your father is living, breathing proof."

He paused for a moment and turned back around to watch her father move on to the next topic of public parks.

"And anyways, other than your family, no one knows that there was an emergency at all. There's really no need to keep everyone calm if there's nothing to worry about in the first place."

Michelle's eyes began to well up in tears again before she remembered the call she had made on the night of her kidnapping. The Joker, sensing a shift in her emotions, seemed to read her mind again. "Your little call to the authorities didn't help you at all, Miss Michelle. They aren't coming."

Michelle folded her arms over her chest and looked up at the ceiling as the futility of the situation began to hit her. "The cops were with you, weren't they," she said dully.

Surprisingly, the Joker shook his head. "Oh, no, no…the cops were never supposed to come," he stated lightly. "The 911 operator, however, _was_ under my orders…I _did_ have to blow up something to make a nice distraction, though…"

Michelle quivered, and sensing that the Joker was in the mood to talk, asked another question. "So…so how did the cops know to come?"

The Joker didn't reply for a few moments. "I'm assuming one of your neighbours saw one of my idiots…shouldn't have been able to get there so _quickly_, though…" The Joker began to mutter to himself again. "…she didn't send enough cruisers out. Oh well, the fool's dead now, so that doesn't really matter anymore, now _does it_?"

Without warning, the Joker aimed the remote at the television and turned it off. Standing up, he stalked over to yet another pile of boxes and produced a broom, which he threw straight at Michelle. She caught the broom before it hit her in the face and stared fearfully up at the clown.

"I want you to clean all of this up. I have a very busy day ahead of me tomorrow and I unfortunately don't have time to entertain you anymore."

With that, he whirled around and left the room, leaving Michelle to clean the mess with a scruffy-looking broom and wonder when broken bones and painful bruises became synonymous with fun.


End file.
